


The Joker and The Queen

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: 90's Era Romy, F/M, First Meeting through Antarctica, romy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: A Romy Mixtape





	1. You Know I'm No Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [01: You Know I’m No Good – Amy Winehouse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-I2s5zRbHg)

She thinks he’s far too sure of himself.

The way he stands there surveying the room with a slight curve to his lip… that sly smile and those strange eyes lingering on Betsy’s backside as she passes by him in a clingy red satin number…

They widen when she catches him looking and she’s sure he’s going for _kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar and ain’t it cute,_ but she arches an eyebrow with a shake of her head going for _what do ah care, sugah?_

Because she doesn’t. Care.

_That boy is a whole messa trouble..._

And the last thing she needs is his brand of it.

He’s… handsy. Always moving his fingers… stroking, tapping. Touching. It makes her nervous.

He kissed her glove when they first met. He kissed her glove like he was some kinda gentleman in a worn-nearly-through leather duster and a torn t-shirt that clung to every curve, every dip of muscle, with dirty hair and flashing eyes and that _smile_...

Though she had rolled her eyes and yanked her hand away it gave her a little shiver that she can’t seem to shake months later.

He’s smiling at her like he doesn’t believe it, that she isn’t jealous, and she rolls her eyes again, turning away to the window to watch the snow falling softly, slowly.

She can still feel him looking. She can always feel him _looking_ …

She doesn’t know what to make of it, his attention. She’s not a fool. She’s quite aware of how readily he gives it to pretty much every woman that crosses his path. She just thought he’d have moved on by now. The fact that she is unable to reciprocate his advances isn’t deterring him any and she finds herself even _more_ attracted to him because of that and damn him for it because he _knows_.

She can see his reflection approaching in the window, but she stands there fixed as a statue gazing out into the grounds determined not to speak first no matter _what_.

He stops so close behind her - he always stands so _close_ \- she can feel his breath at the nape of her neck…

He dips his head to her ear, he says, “You gon’ dance wit me, _chere_?”

She snorts, wraps her opera-gloved arms around herself and looks at him in the glass. Their eyes meet and the smile, that sly smirk is gone while he waits for her answer. It surprises her. How serious he looks.

Finally, he says, softly, he says, “It Chris’mas, _p’tite_ … Tink of it as a presen’ t’me, neh?”

And she can’t help but wonder if it’s a trick, this… _Serious Gambit._ She can’t help but wonder it’s just another game to keep himself amused until Betsy gives in and just sleeps with him already.

He’s looking at her like it would really matter to him if she said “no”.

She tells herself she doesn’t care one bit how Gambit feels about her or anyone else.

She tells herself Bobby is off somewhere getting a drink and she really likes this song and that that’s the only reason why she turns to him, why she takes his arm. 

She wants to dance. That’s all.

He puts his hands on her hips, guiding them back and forth in time with his as she steps with him, and she can tell he’s pleased that she’s keeping up, that she can match him.  She bites her lip against a smile as he twirls her expertly, and then Betsy’s right there in her tight tight dress, all cleavage and lips…

She looks up at him from under her eyebrows fully expecting his attention to have wandered in that direction and blinks when she finds his eyes still on her face with a look she can’t read at all, like she’s being studied, and she doesn’t know if she likes it, his looking at her like he’s looking for a way _in_.

_There ain't no key for that lock, sugah..._

And he quirks an eyebrow at her, that smile again, all, _I don’ **need** a key, chere…_

He stops them suddenly in a quiet corner far away from everyone else, the only light coming from the Christmas tree beside them soft and glowing and warm and she kind of feels that way too...

Without taking his eyes from hers he tilts his chin up and whispers, “Now how’d _dat_ get dere?

And she looks up at the single sprig of mistletoe in the whole goddamn mansion and she thinks she kind of hates him.


	2. You Got Me All Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [02: You Got Me All Wrong – Dios Malos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYNo1sgeHgM)

She’s wearing a pale peach sundress and sitting alone under the shade of the oak tree beside the pond. He watches her gazing at Scott as he smoothes suntan lotion onto Jean’s back, her eyes following his hands as they slide over the redhead’s shoulder blades, the small of her back.

Jubilee shrieks from the water as Logan tosses her over his shoulder with a splash and Rogue shakes her head with a small pained smile, tearing her gaze away from the lovers to watch her teammates frolic in the water. She smirks as Jubilee comes up sputtering and fingers a page of her magazine before closing it with a sigh. She piles her hair up on top of her head with one hand, fanning the back of her neck with the other, and he looks at it, at her shoulders, her skin, flushed and glistening with sweat. 

She closes her eyes with a frown and leans back against the tree, her long long legs bare, her skirt hitched up on her thighs, and he thinks he’s never seen so much of her.

She’s obviously uncomfortable in the heat but unwilling to risk brushing up against anyone in the water and consequently is probably very grouchy and touchy right now. She nearly bit his head off this morning when he asked if she was wearing a swimsuit under that sweet little dress even though he knew she wasn’t. He knew she wasn’t wearing anything under it save for a pair of panties maybe, and that virginal little sundress has him more hot and bothered than Betsy in her little bikini, more than the July sun beating down on his bare flesh. 

He decides to risk her wrath and submerges himself once more before climbing out and making his way over to the little picnic area she’s made for herself. His body throws a shadow over her and she opens one eye, looking up at him.

“Ya comin’ ova ta gloat?” she asks and he grins and gets down on his hands and knees, crawling over to her. She sucks in her breath but to her credit doesn’t try to sink back into the tree or even smooth her skirt down her legs when he doesn’t stop until he’s practically on top of her.

“Thought I’d help ya cool off” he says dripping all over her, and she smiles despite herself, touching a circle of moisture on her bodice. The material of her dress is so thin, where it’s wet it’s see-through, and he cajoles her with his eyes and his smile and he says, “Come on in, _chere_ , de water’s fine.”

“I ain’t swimmin’ with you,” she says and he pouts, still dripping, watching droplets running down her skin, feeling her breath on his cheek as he leans even closer, his lips to her ear,

“Then lay down.”

He’s only been with the X-Men a few short months but he knows this much – Rogue will never back down from a challenge. Especially if it’s coming from him. 

She thinks he believes this nonsense about her being untouchable and she thinks it gives her the advantage. She thinks he’ll always back down first.

He pulls back slightly to meet her eyes and they narrow. 

“Why?”

“You don’ trus’me?”

She laughs, bites her lip, shakes her head.

“Ya know ah don’t.”

He smiles a slow smile and crawls back, making room for her to lay down. After a moment she rolls her eyes and does it like he knew she would. 

When she’s settled he leans back over her, looks at her trying to look back at him all nonchalant and _whatever, Cajun_ , but her breasts rise and fall once, twice, in a rapid succession of breath as he puts a damp hand low on her belly.

“Gambit… “

“Shhhh” he says, and when he takes his hand away he’s left a print and he can see her skin through her dress, and he leans over it and blows, cooling her.Her breath leaves her in a small startled gasp and then a sweet little whimper as he presses his lips there, the tip of his tongue. He sees her hands clutching her skirt out of the corner of his eye, and he lifts his head to look at her then, wanting to _see_ her and is shocked to find tears streaming down her cheeks, her body suddenly ramrod straight beneath him. 

He quickly leans back, “ _Chere_ … what…”, and she opens her eyes, making sure he is clear of her before rolling over onto her side and curling into herself, her hands pressed hard against her face.

“Rogue _… Dieu_ … M’sorry…” He reaches out to her but she gets to her knees, and then, shakily, her feet. She angrily pushes the tears off her cheeks and gathers up her things, nearly yanking the blanket out from under him.

“ _Chere_ …” he tries again and she turns her back on him, speaking to him over her shoulder.

“Y’cain’t… _do_ stuff like that, Gambit.”

“I just did,” he says and she whirls around to look at him, furious, thinking he’s taunting her, thinking he’s saying he’s won this round and she stops when she sees that that’s not what he meant at all. 

“I can touch you,” he says.

“Ah’ll kill you.” 

She doesn’t mean it as a threat, just a simple statement of fact.

He’s still not convinced. 

He reaches out to show her and she turns, she runs back to the mansion. 

A week later they’re on a mission and she absorbs someone. It’s the first time he sees her do it.

Back on the Blackbird she’s huddled in the back with her hands pressed against her forehead, doing some kind of breathing exercise, some kind of meditation. After a moment she lifts her head to find him watching her. Shame flickers across her face, embarrassment, and then she packs it all away, going stone-faced as she twists her hair into a ponytail and stares out the window.

He sits down beside her and looks at her for a long moment even though she won’t look at him.

“It always like dat f’ya?”

She clenches her jaw, turns her head and looks him dead in the eye.

“It’s always like that f’everybody, Cajun. _Everybody_.”


	3. Do You Wanna Touch Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [03: Do You Wanna Touch Me - Gary Glitter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oi7ds7Lmmrk)

He is _so_ not going to win.

She doesn’t care what she has to do, Jubilee is gonna be eatin’ _gravel_ if she don’t get out of her way _right_ _now_ and-

_Dammit!_

He catches her shot and makes his own over his shoulder.

He’s somersaulting to the ground and coming up with a perfectly aimed throw.

He’s making another basket with his hand over his eyes.

He’s catching every shot she takes, blocking every pass and how the hell is he managing to be everywhere at once?!

“ _Yeah!_ Ladies and gentlemen, in _this_ corner, the Ragin’ Cajun!”

 _Jubilee’s_ game, however, leaves much to be desired as her primary function seems to be gloating and pissing everyone who’s not on her team off, which, actually… _Yes_ , she believes that _is_ her primary function because she is seeing _red_ and it’s making her sloppy.

She can just _see_ him telling Jubes to be as obnoxious as possible as a part of their game plan…

“We ain’t boxin’ Jubilee,” she mutters, catching the ball.

“And in the _other_ corner, Wheezy McGee and Lady Bitter Much!”

Logan shakes his head, gives her a _We takin’ down these clowns or what?_ and then fucking _Gambit_ is there _again_ , ready to _intercept_ and she thinks, looking him dead in the eye, _I **hate** you._

He blows her a kiss and winks.

“Go, baby, yeah!” Jubilee crows and she curses as he takes advantage of her fumble and runs like a bat outta hell towards the hoop, Logan hot on his heels.

The ball leaves his hands just as Logan takes a swipe and…

Net. Nothing but.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!” she shrieks.

She is sweating like crazy under her suit and goddamn this weather and goddamn her power because Lord knows she’d be stripping down to her underwear if she could. She’d so be able to take him on if she wasn’t so goddamned _hot_.

She shakes her damp hair out of her face, determined, determined as hell because he is _laughing_ like this is _fun_.

This is not _fun_. This is _war_.

She elbows Jubilee to the side, ignores her “hey!” and passes the ball to Logan who rams Gambit out of the way and…

Misses the shot.

“FUCK!” she screams and Gambit _tsks_ , waving a finger at her from across the court.

“Now, now Roguey, dere’re children present, _non_?”

“Screw you, Cajun!” Jubilee hollers.

One, two, three, _swoosh, swoosh, swoosh,_ and she can feel Logan approaching a berserker really quickly and she is right there with him.

Gambit races past her, glistening with sweat and she completely doubts its authenticity. He’s moving like the air isn’t fucking soupy as hell, like there is absolutely no real effort involved here, and they’re all in shape, yes, but she is starting to ache a little from stretching so hard to reach over him and all his goddamn _height_ that he is just _lording_ over her at every opportunity.

She has her hands up trying to block but she is gazing at his solar plexus with her lower lip caught behind her front teeth thinking about what a well-aimed punch will do to help her and Logan and he tosses a grin at her, catching her looking, thinking she’s thinking something else.

“You _wish_ , swamp rat!” she growls shoving at his middle and snatching the ball away as Jubilee shouts “Illegal! Soooooo flippin’ illegal!” 

He’s on top of her, his hands hovering over her hips, her arms, her shoulders, she can feel the heat coming off him in waves making her dizzy and she moans with frustration and he hears it and when his hand actually makes contact with her ribcage and _grasps_ , she doesn’t think, she backs herself right up in his business and shimmies.

He’s stunned.

And she takes advantage.

She elbows him in the gut ( _“Illegal! Illegal!”_ ), tosses the ball to Logan who makes the shot.

She slaps her partner an up and down high five complete with a fist bump and throws a smirk over her shoulder at Gambit who is staring at her backside with a raised eyebrow and a “Oh, it is so _on,_ _cherie_ …”

_Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh_

“GODDAMMIT!”

_Swoosh_

“Yeah! How _does_ he do it?”

“JUBILEE-"

_Swoosh_

“Is it the shorts?”

“I SWEAH TA GOD-“

_Swoosh_

“Is it the shoes?”

“AH WILL END YOU-"

_Swoosh_

“Gotta be the shoes!”

“IF’N YA DON’T _SHUT_ IT!”

Her feet leave the ground and she catches the ball an inch from the net and, okay, _yeah_ , flying’s cheating but- 

“Gambit’s powers include _natural agility_. How can we tell if he’s usin’ them or not?” She hurls the ball at him, feeling a flash of satisfaction when he lets out a _Whomph!_ and it’s as good as a breeze across the back of her neck, as good as a tall glass of ice cold water to see that man thrown off balance and that goddamned smirk wiped off his face for once…

Five minutes later she is crashing through a brick wall.

And then he is right there, grinning, eyes flashing, chest heaving. He is lifting her up off a pile of bricks and plaster as she scowls at him and really, she can’t even concentrate on what he’s going on about because his elbows are under her armpits, locking her to him and the heat coming off the both of them is trapped in that quarter of an inch between their bodies and it’s making her _crazy_ and he is looking down at her, he is looking at her mouth still talking, he is looking at her mouth and he is leaning closer, closer and _snap the hell out of it_ because, because… _God, he’s going to..._

“NO!.”

She decks him.

He massages his jaw, still smiling, as she backs away and she _cannot_ _breathe_ she is so _hot… s_ he needs to strip down, she needs…

She needs…

She meets his eyes, flicker, flicker, and a flash of teeth as he bites his lip still looking her over like she’s something to spoon up.

_A cold freakin' shower..._

“’Scuse me…” she mutters, and she hears something that sounds like “6:00” and “pick you up” and she waves her hand instead of flipping him off and it’s only when she gets back to her room and peels off her suit and stands naked in her room that she realizes she’s just agreed to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference (and some dialogue): X-Men #4 (1992)_


	4. Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [04: Lust - The Raveonettes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_q0_PjLt4k)

He dreams of skin.

Honeyed...

Gold…

And then sometimes pale as snow…

He dreams of it laid out before him, sloping over bones and muscles, smooth and sure and soft and he puts his hands on it in his dreams, he puts his mouth.

He traces every curve, every line, he loses himself in the promise of a woman’s body... of a body that becomes _her_ body…

And then her eyes… 

Her voice… 

_Her_. 

Always _her_ …

It’s dangerous. 

More so than the reality of her mutation and what it could do to him if she ever let him make good on any of his promises. 

The loss of his memories, of his _life_ , is nothing compared to the loss of his heart. It’s the one thing he has never been able to play fast and loose with. It’s the one thing he never risks, never puts on the table. 

But here… 

When every time he closes his eyes it’s her he sees.

When he’s alone in his bed and he doesn’t have to be. 

When he could go anywhere and find someone to share his night with but doesn’t because of _her_.

Here is where he does it. Where he flirts with the idea of risking everything by surrounding himself with the made up memory of her hand over his heart, her head on his chest and the sound of her voice saying his name quietly, softly…

_Remy…_

He opens his eyes, blinks in the darkness.

He groans, shakes his head, mutters, “What de fuck you doin’, Remy…” and he fights it off, the thought of her that way - soft and in his arms and fucking _clothed_ this time for shit’s sake.

He doesn’t _want_ that... He doesn’t want romance, tenderness. 

He wants hard and hot and over. Done with. Sated.

So he shuts his eyes tight and he remembers her alone in the library this afternoon. 

_“Watcha want Gambit?”_

_“M’tongue in y’mouth and y’legs ‘round m’waist.”_

_“That’s not funny…”_

_“Non… it wouldn’ be… but it would be_ **_fun_ ** _…”_

This time he doesn’t back off when she gets that look… that look he’s been thinking about since he’s laid down… that look of… shame and sadness and yearning and _God_ he wants to touch her face, wants to stroke her hair and hold her…

“Stop it,” he fumes at himself, _I want_ ** _this_** :

_“Non… it wouldn’ be… but it would be_ **_fun_ ** _…”_

_He corners her between the bookshelf and the window. He looks at her bare hands splayed out against the crumbling bindings behind her, against the frost-swept glass, and he comes closer than he’s ever dared and he unbuttons each button of her blouse slowly, slowly. He keeps his eyes on hers but he doesn’t kiss, not yet. He breathes her in, catalogues the fluttering pulse at her throat, the flicker of her eyelashes, her lips parted and trying not to make a sound as he pushes the material off her shoulders and places his hand against naked skin and nothing happens. Nothing but her trembling under his palms like she’s about to shake to pieces, not with fear, but with_ ** _want_** _, and he calls her liar, because what she’s said isn’t true, she can’t hurt him. He can’t hurt her. He says it again, softly,_ ** _liar_** _, but smiles when she whispers against his lips,_ ** _delayed gratification, sugah… makes it all th’ more… delicious… all th’ more worth havin’… right?_** _and he presses himself against her in answer, his hands coming round to the small of her back under her blouse still tucked into her skirt,_ ignoring the fact that she had been wearing pants this afternoon, _and he holds her there against him making her_ ** _feel_** _it, and when he moves her head falls back with a gasp until she can’t take it anymore and neither can he and her hands reach between them, fumbling for his belt. Her mouth finally meets his then, warm and tasting like ripe peaches and she whimpers and he groans and the books are falling all around them, the glass is melting as he gasps against her throat words like_ ** _forever_** _, and_ ** _always_** _, and when he uses the one word he has stricken from his vocabulary unless he’s using it to mean_ ** _sex_** _the shock of it leaving his lips is enough to jolt him out of the fantasy-_

“ _Fuck_ ,” he rasps, breathing hard, his body slick with sweat, his eyes open wide and staring at his ceiling as he shakes alone in his bed. He listens to himself pant, listens to the pounding of his heart, and after a moment, when he’s caught his breath and all is still he whispers softly into the darkness, “Remy, boy… you in some serious trouble…”


	5. Last Leaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [05:Last Leaf - Lisa Hannigan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMHuAeWx3yM)

She does this: She turns off all the lights in her room and she opens her window, she lifts the shade. The only light is the light from the moon shining through the transparent curtains and tonight it’s bright as a searchlight.

She takes off her jacket first.

She slides it off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor in a heap of leather and a soft clink of buckles.

And then she reaches behind her back, she finds the zipper of her uniform and she slowly pulls it down, she unsheathes herself to the waist.

She eases the straps of her bra down her shoulders until all that covers them is the dark tangle of her hair almost inky black against her blue-white skin.

She clasps her hands to her breasts, holding the loosened material there almost modestly, almost shyly until she lets it fall away, and when she looks at herself then she pretends he’s looking too.

She unbuckles her belt next, lets it drop it to the floor. She slides her hands down her hips, taking the rest of her uniform with and she pretends to know what his hands would feel like if they did this, if they undressed her like this. She imagines the soft slide of his leather gloves and then the heat of his skin, scarred and giving her goosebumps after she tells him _it’s okay, you can take them off, you can touch…._

She looks at herself alone in her room in her underwear glowing with all her white, white skin like a ghost, like something that can be passed through, something that isn’t there at all. Something that needs to be anchored before it floats away before it’s gone forever. 

She wants him to be her weight, her tether.

She wants him to know this, she wants to tell him.

She wants to go to her window and when she sees him down there in the courtyard smoking and staring at the same moon that’s clothing her now, she wants to part the curtains, she wants to not turn away, to not hide, but to meet his eyes when he finds her looking down at him.

She wants him to come to her then, she wants him to reach out, she wants his hands to touch the air around her body and pretend with her.

And she wants to see him too.

She wants him to lay down in her bed, naked like she is naked, and she wants to look at him, she wants to see him stripped bare like her and she wants to tell him that no one has ever seen her before, and she thinks maybe, maybe no one has ever seen him. The real him.

 _She_ sees him. In flashes. Every once in a while he drops the act and she thinks besides maybe Storm she’s the only one in the mansion who can say she knows him… or at least pieces of him. 

It’s these pieces that get inside her, that make her believe him sometimes, the things he says. Even when he doesn’t believe them himself. 

It’s when there’s the smallest flash of guilt when he’s realized he’s gone too far. It’s when he’s surprised into genuine laughter. When she catches him actually listening during a mission briefing and working out in his head what he can do, what will be effective not just for him but for all of them. It’s when she sees the way he looks at her sometimes when he doesn’t know she’s looking right back that she knows him. The real him.

That’s who she wants. That’s who she dreams of.  That’s who she wants to touch her right now…

“ _Chere_?”

He knocks on her door like she knew he would. It’s their turn to make dinner for everyone this month. He’s going to teach her how to make jambalaya.

She thinks she’d rather learn something else from him.

She thinks about saying, _come in._

She thinks about what could happen if she did.

But she steps into a pair of yoga pants and pulls on a t-shirt as he tries the handle and his eyes that can see in the dark linger for just a moment on the band of skin between her ribcage and the waist of her pants before she smoothes her shirt down.

She’s had men look at her before, but with Remy…it never turns off. He always wants her. Every second of every day they spend together she can _feel_ it, and it _hurts_ , but in a way that almost feels _good_. He can’t have her and he knows it but he’s still here. It makes her think there’s more here. There’s more to her for him than the fact that he finds her attractive… 

She’s told him to leave her alone before and meant it. For both their sakes.

But on days like today, a day with no drama, no danger, just grocery shopping and a training session. A day where she watched him pick through produce with a fastidiousness and a seriousness that she’d never seen before and made her smile so hard her cheeks hurt… where the both of them worked out some of the tension by beating the crap out of robots and working at it together and laughing and goofing off while Scott threw his hands up in disgust… It’s days like today that she wants him so much it’s more of an ache than usual. It’s days like today when she does this, when she looks at herself and lets herself see what he sees, what he wants. What they both want. And it’s times like now that he knows and he lays off the flirting, he lets her lead the way, let’s her set the pace for their sparring.

She twists her hair up with both hands into a messy bun, knowing full well the movement is causing her shirt to ride up again, and when she meets his eyes they flash in the dark just once before he steps back to let her pass. She brushes against him anyway and his hand briefly cups her shoulder blade before he follows her down the hall. 


	6. I Will Possess Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [06: I Will Possess Your Heart - Deathcab for Cutie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pq-yP7mb8UE)

It’s the first time they’ve really spoken with no flirting, no ulterior motives, no trying to see who can get the upper hand, who can get the last word.

Truth be told he’s a little shocked by her honesty, her directness. He was unprepared for her to drop the game so soon. That doesn’t usually happen until after he’s bedded them and granted, that hasn’t been a possibility in the traditional sense with this one, but he’s had a plan to get there eventually anyhow.

But now, tonight, she beat him to the punch. She gave him what he wanted without him having to steal it from her. 

The game is this: Find the hardest nut to crack and then break it wide open. Get the girl to want you, to love you, and enjoy it for as long as it’s convenient and then move on to the next one. It’s not malicious. It’s the turtle and the scorpion.

It’s been easy up until tonight (barring the whole “no touching” thing which is a delicious kind of torture in itself) - a flirtation with a gorgeous girl, a high stakes challenge to see how far he could push her, how far he could get.

But tonight… listening to her up there on the roof under the stars laying herself bare in front of him in a way she has never done before, showing him herself so completely without any prompting from him, doing it purely because she needed to…

She talked to him like a person. A friend.

And then she called him squarely on his shit. Made it clear in a completely unconcerned way that she knows exactly what his game is, that she always has, and that she is done playing.

This is the point where he is supposed to walk away.

So he did.

He left her there on the roof in the middle of the night and now he is in his room, lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling and wondering why the fuck he cares so much that she’s up there alone and miserable and _resigned_.

He knows she’s been down lately about what happened with Strobe. He can appreciate her hating having to depend on him to be her eyes, her guide. It upsets the delicate power balance they’ve had going on between them. It puts her at an obvious disadvantage and he knows better than to tell her he enjoys it, her needing him. He’s a little surprised at how much he _sincerely_ enjoys it, surprised at how willing he’s been these past few weeks to be there for her.

And right about now he should be going into self-preservation mode and be putting as much distance between them as possible. Or at the very least sleep with someone and make sure she finds out about it. Which he’s not even sure would work. She’s made it clear she knows she has no claim to him no matter how many times he’s hinted that she does.

She’s not going to be jealous if he sleeps with someone else, she’s going to be proven right. 

He thinks of her up there alone believing that it’s all she’ll ever be and his heart hurts.

His heart hurts because she’s wrong.

Because she _can_ have things.

She’s good. And brave. And honest and strong and valiant and beautiful and sad and he _wants_ her.

He wants her in a real way. In a way that doesn’t necessarily involve sweat and moaning. Which is new and dangerous and a bit of a concern and, frankly, has been for a while. He just hasn’t acknowledged it until now.

She’d stared up at the stars, out into the grounds, the wind twisting locks of her hair against her cheeks, her neck, her skin glowing white in the moonlight. He’d looked at her bare arms, the exposed small of her back and the sight of her naked skin… it was different. He felt a pang. Not just of lust. Not lust… He reached out to her then and she slapped his hand away because why wouldn’t she? He’s reached before and meant something completely different.

This is different.

He is different.

He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed deciding not to think about it anymore. He can think about it, _worry_ about it, later. Right now he has to be up there on the roof with her. He has to let her know that there are some things he can give her. Some things that are real, that aren’t a game.

He grabs a blanket off the edge of the bed knowing perfectly well that she doesn’t need it being invulnerable to pretty much everything including the cold, but it’s a peace offering. It’s a fresh start from a new place. A place he hasn’t been in a long time. A place he’d never thought he’d want to go again but… there it is.

And there she is.

He sits down beside her, he wraps the blanket around her shoulders and she sinks back against his chest and he holds her, he just holds her like he’s wanted to do for too long and he tells her what she needs to hear and when she asks him to promise he does. And for the first time he lets himself mean it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference to the rooftop scene in Uncanny X-Men #297_


	7. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [07: Stay - Michelle Featherstone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gq2Hy6riX0)

She saw his face.

When Henri told him Belle was still alive… she saw his face and that should have been enough for her to let him go right there and then.

But she didn’t. She invited herself along for the ride like a complete and utter masochist.

He warned her that it would be hard, that he didn’t know what was going to happen, but she told him to hush up about all that because he needed someone to watch his back and _that’s_ why she was going.

The truth is she’d needed to go with him to New Orleans so she could watch him walk away. Otherwise she’d be here forever waiting for him to come back.

She’d planned to tell him it’s okay, she understands, they never promised each other anything. She’d planned to say whatever lie she could think of before he could say it first, but when they stopped for the night she couldn’t say anything. And neither could he.

They built a campfire.

They laid down beside each other under the stars, not saying a word, and then he moved closer, and then closer, and then the weight of his body settled onto hers like it had in the danger room just that afternoon when she had saved his life by pulling him out of the line of fire.

He laid on top of her knowing she could take it and she didn’t close her eyes when he looked at her, when he just looked and traced her cheekbone, her lips with his gloved fingertips.

She knew what it was. It wasn’t a promise. It was as close as they were going to get to a goodbye.

The next morning he seemed different. She couldn’t say how, but… it made her hope. It made her think _maybe_ …

But then he saw _her_ , and the way he looked at her… the way he _looks_ at her… She’s never seen Remy naked before. Not even that last night... He was still shielding himself even then and she didn’t realize it until she saw him shattered, clutching the hand of his unconscious wife and saying her name like it _hurt_ him to say it…

He’s an open wound and letting himself feel it. This man who can walk around with broken ribs and not even blink if he knows you’re paying attention. He’s bleeding in front of her and she can’t go to him.

He shutters himself when he looks at her. Here in this city, in this room, the mask is firmly in place but she knows that’s all it is. She isn’t flattering herself to think that this is painful for him too. He’s not that good a liar no matter what he thinks and she knows his tricks by now. The colder his countenance, the more he’s feeling it.

He looks at her just once before he goes to find the elixir. He reaches out, touches the edge of her jacket before dropping his hand. His strange eyes flash as he looks away from her to his sleeping wife and she murmurs, “I’ll keep her safe for you…”

He nods and leaves without a word.

The fact that he trusts her to care for Belle in his absence… it touches her. It means something to her. There is only one other person in the world he has ever trusted with the things that matter the most to him and Tante Mattie is just down the hall in case either of them need anything.

The old woman took one look at her and knew. She spent most of the evening clucking over her until she was about to lose it completely and just throw herself into Tante’s arms and sob…

She listens to the roar of his motorcycle as he drives off and then she turns to look at Belle lying in Remy’s bed. In Remy’s room. In a house he bought for the both of them even though he was too tactful to say so outright. She is silent and still as a marble statue. She’s the most beautiful person Rogue has ever seen up close barring Remy himself and she feels sick with embarrassment that she had thought however fleetingly that she might have had a chance.

After all, she’s seen them together. That day Belle showed up at the mansion looking for her _husband_. They were perfect for each other even then, even after years apart. Like they were made for each other and nothing could change that. The way they spoke, the way they moved…

She looks at Belle’s lips, her body. She thinks of Remy fitting himself to her the way he had done to her last night but with nothing between them but skin.

She thinks Belle has had him in a way she can only begin to imagine, and now she will have him again.

She closes her eyes and for the first time she lets herself cry for it because Remy is not here to see. No one is here to see and she curls in on herself, her hands to her face and her face to her knees so tired of trying to be strong, trying to keep up a brave face.

She’s not selfless. She’s never been selfless. When there’s so little of you left in the first place you cling to whatever there is of you, and wanting Remy… it’s one of the few things she, _Rogue_ , has ever wanted for _herself_ , and she can’t believe that after everything… she’s going to be left with nothing. She will be alone again and this time it will be worse because now she knows. She knows what she will be missing when she’s missing him…

Belle shifts in her sleep, restless, and suddenly it occurs her that she doesn’t _have_ to miss him.

She can take a piece of him with her when he leaves her, when she goes.

She can have him forever if she wants… she can…

She peels the glove from her hand, she thinks how easy, how no one would ever know…

Belle sighs, shifting again and Rogue yanks her hand back from her shoulder, shocked and disgusted with herself.

_What am ah doin’… what the hell am ah **doin’** …_

She backs away from the bed, breathing hard and still crying, wrapping her arms around herself and shaking.

As soon as he comes back she’ll go. She’ll say goodbye and nothing else and he will let her because… what else can he do? What else can either of them do?

It’s over.

She takes a breath. She presses the heels of her palms to her eyes until she stops crying and then she goes back to the bed, she pulls the disrupted sheet back up over Belle’s shoulder, whispering, “Ah’m sorry Belle… Ah didn’t mean it… Ah would never-”

And then suddenly, with a gasp, Belle’s eyes open. Her violet eyes, wide and unseeing, are open. She is awake and Rogue is too surprised to get out of the way, to move her bare hand away from the thrashing woman’s skin before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference: Gambit 1993 Limited Series_


	8. Be Be Your Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [08: Be Be Your Love – Rachel Yamagata](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGvXf1j_t10)

She’s been sitting on her bed in the dark for over an hour, thinking about Illyana, Colossus. She can still hear Jubilee crying. Can still see Jean stroking her hair and rocking her, letting Jubilee be the child she is for once. Letting her be sad and scared…

She’s scared.

For the first time in a long time.

She’s strong. Well nigh invulnerable. It would take a hell of a lot to kill her, and that means she can take risks, she can throw herself in harm's way in order to protect the people she loves. But there’s nothing she can do about a virus…. This virus… she can’t protect anyone from this… 

The life she’s chosen… it’s quick and dirty and painful and rough. Death is everywhere but she’s never really realized it until now… It’s never really _hit_ her until now… Losing Illyana, a little girl who isn’t in the fight, who never signed up for this kind of danger… She’s dead for no other reason than genetics. The bits and pieces that make her who she is killed her. And it can kill any one of them just as easily. No reason, no remorse. Just a relentless death that no one is going to see coming until it’s too late…

Remy knocks on her door, asks if he can come in and she says, yes. He doesn’t flip on the light when he does he just comes and sits behind her before gently guiding her back to rest against his chest.

“You doin’ anyting t’night?” 

“Why?”

“I wan’ take y’ out.”

She turns to look at him, shaking her head in disbelief, “Now? Tonight?”

“I wan’ take y’ out,” he says it again without a hint of flirtation. “We need t’get outta here fo’ a bit.”

“Remy…”

He gets to his feet, goes to her door. He stands there for a moment with his hand on the knob but doesn’t open it.

“We never had our date, _chere_. I want it.”

He doesn’t say _before it’s too late_ but she can feel him think it.

She swallows, whispers, “Where we goin’ then?”

“Someplace nice,” he says and when he finally opens the door and looks back at her she can’t read his face at all. “Wear y’fav’rite dress. We goin’ all out t’night, _chere_.”

\---

They’re both a little tipsy by the time the bill comes. After their standoff, they had ordered another bottle and got to work on drinking away the tension, on trying to pretend neither of them had crossed the line.

She doesn’t know why she did it, why she brought Belle up. Why she decided that _right now_ was the time to… broach that subject. She’d done a pretty good job of pushing it to the back of her mind lately, but seeing him like that in the candlelight… his jaw clean-shaven and smooth, his wild hair slicked back, the richness of his suit… it occurred to her suddenly that he had dressed up for _her_ like this once, that he had probably taken her out to restaurants just like this before everything fell apart and she wanted to know more about that version of him because she’d never seen it before.

She drinks the champagne he pours for her, she takes his arm, and tells herself this is what it’s like to be loved by Remy LeBeau…

Even if it’s not true, even if the both of them are just trying it out for the night to get away from everything, all the death and sadness… all the things falling apart around them… This is them taking the pieces that are left and running with them, this is them _living_  because they need to and just for now because _she_ needs to… she’s going to pretend that this is real, this is all true, she can have this like Belle had this, had him.

He flags down a carriage and she grins as he offers his hand like a gentleman to help her inside and they flirt carelessly, they tumble into each other in the back of the cab and she lets herself forget everything… everything that’s happened tonight, that can happen tomorrow. She leans into Remy refusing to be afraid of this, of his hands in her hair as he holds her face so close to his… as he looks at her mouth, her eyes, her mouth and whispers breathlessly against her lips, “Dis is how I’ve wanned it t’be since I first looked at you, Rogue... beyond all the flirtin’ an’ teasin’… past all the games an’ all the uncertainty… I know we can be hurt, girl… physically as well as emotionally… I know one kiss from you…. one touch, flesh to flesh… might give me some serious hurtin’…” He strokes his thumb across her lower lip slowly, softly.  “I’m willin’ t’take de risk for you…” he whispers. “You willin’ t’do de same f’me?”

She looks into his eyes, his strange flickering eyes, and it surprises her how genuinely fearless he is… how genuinely _romantic_ and hopeful and _willing_ …

It takes her breath away how dangerous this is, how dangerous she’s let it become and she shakes her head, forcing herself to come back to her senses once and for all because she knows he would do it. He would let her do it. And she can’t pretend anymore like she _can_ …

So she whispers, “No…”, she slides back, away from him, away from the warmth they’ve made, away from this evening with him and this moment where everything he’s said… it couldn’t be more perfect. It couldn’t be more what she wants to hear, more what she needs to hear from him…

“What is it…?”

_Ah'm not like her... I'll never be like her..._

“Ah cain’t…. ah want to… but ah cain’t. Ah’m so afraid ah might hurt you like ah did to Cody when ah was little an’ kissed him…” She shakes her head, wraps her arms tightly around herself as though trying to hold it all in but she can’t anymore, she can’t and when she turns to face him he’s right there waiting for her like she knew he would be. She touches his lips with the tips of her fingers, whispers, “It was the firs’ an’ last time ah kissed someone out of passion… An’ if ah kiss you…an’ if ah hurt _you_ … ah know… ah just know ah’d want to die...”

She can see him… She can _see_ him lying there in the med bay where Illyana is, pale as the sheets and _gone_ …

She can do that. That’s what she can give him. A different kind of death, but a death all the same…

He draws her back to him, says softly against her hair, “Then we don’ kiss, Rogue. Simple as that. Maybe thas’ jus’ fine right now for you an’ me…. Maybe we both have t’learn dere’s more t’love than th’physical.” He takes the tears from her lashes with the softest of kisses and murmurs against her hair, “Maybe dis will work even better in de long run, neh? Maybe we both end up learnin’ what love really means...”

She closes her eyes and breathes him in with a shaky breath tasting the cologne she told him she liked once, cologne that he wore for her tonight, and she thinks he always knows what to say, what to do to make her feel… like things will be okay. Like they will be okay despite everything…

“Remy…” She opens her eyes, wanting to give him something… the only thing he’s asked for that she _can_ give… “Mah real name…it’s….” he places a finger against her lips. He kisses it and he whispers _Shhh_ … and she knows it’s because he understands. That’s not who she is anymore. It’s a past that has nothing to do with who she is now, who she is to him and she rests her head against his breast, his beating heart, and she thinks, _this is what it’s like to be loved by Remy LeBeau..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference (and some dialogue): X-Men #24 (1993)_


	9. Parting Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [09: Parting Ways – Pearl Jam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZwc-U_5V7o)

He finds her at the pier.

She’s wearing a dress he knows, a dress he’s only seen once before, a scarlet dress of silk that catches the light and clings to her hips. A dress she wore the first time he asked her out. He remembers her on the porch trying to play it cool but looking excited, giddy. Young. He can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad sign that she’s wearing it now considering how that date ended.

He knows she’s talked to Creed.

He’s willing to bet he told her everything and embellished some of the nastier bits just for her benefit and he hates that she did it, that she didn’t leave well enough alone after he practically _begged_ her to let it be. But he doesn’t tell her that.

This is not her fault.

She won’t look at him and he decides, _bad_.

She tells him she’s in love with him, and even though he’s known for some time, his heart… something light and sweet happens to his _heart_ when he hears her say it out loud even though she’s angry with him, even though there are tears in her voice, and he wants to say it back because he loves her too but he can’t now. He can’t because she won’t believe him now. She’d think he’s just saying it to end the argument, to distract her, to appease her.

She’d think it’s a lie.

When she finally turns to him she still can’t meet his eyes. She’s shaking and he has never seen her this angry, this _crushed_.

_"I'm afraid you don't know what that word means..."_

She tells him she can’t trust him and it’s a red-hot knife through his gut because that’s when she looks him in the eye. And she’s unflinching when she does. She means it when she does. 

He looks into her green, green eyes that are hard as granite, and he wants to explain to her that there are things in his past that he has to stop beating himself up for at some point. Things that he has to let go of because it’s a slow way of dying to hold onto all of your sins, to clasp them that tightly to you and let them eat away at the person you’re trying to be. He knows it is because there is one he _can’t_ let go of, the biggest one, and it’s the thing that’s stopping him from telling her everything, from showing her who he is, who he wants to be. Who he _can_ be because of her. It’s his punishment, this wall of what he’s done between him and the good guys, between him and her. Genevieve is just one tiny brick in that wall that he barely even thinks about anymore.

And maybe she’d hate even him more if he told her that.

She pushes past him and he catches her arm, he pulls her up against him and he knows she’s strong enough to snap him in half but she lets him. 

“Tell me sumthin’” she says quietly. “Sumthin’ true. _Anythin’_ …”

“ _Chere_ , ev’ryting you need t’know ‘bout me y’already do…”

She shakes her head, she looks down at his hand until he lets her go.

“That’s a lie,” she says. “You’re a liar,” she says and she turns, she walks away from him.

He watches her go and he clenches his fists, itching to charge something, to blow something up. 

Preferably Creed. 

He gave her just enough to get her thinking, to get her questioning every moment they’ve ever had, every word he’s ever said when they’ve been alone…

He goes to him, to the cell where they're holding him and he doesn't say a word, he just stares through the bars at this animal who grins up at him, ropes of saliva dripping from his maw.

_You didn't really think I'd give it all up this early did you? Where's the fun in that?_

His hands shake, his gut churns, his heart pounds.

_It’s only a matter a’ time before you’re gonna have ta stop dancin’ and face the music, pup._

_And then yer gonna lose her. Yer gonna lose everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference: X-Men #33 (1994)_


	10. Exit the Recital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [10: Exit the Recital - Stars of Track and Field](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygvddpVJwBQ)

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been out here staring at the horizon, waiting. People have come and gone, their teammates, the army, but they’ve decided to stay put and watch the end of the world from here - the middle of the open desert.

Sand and sky and moon, Remy says i _t’s kind of beautiful, how calm it is, how still. Makes it easy to pretend the World’s at peace._

He smokes and smokes and smokes and she takes one from him, takes it from his mouth and brings it to hers and he chuckles when she coughs and gasps, _that’s terrible…_

He paces for a bit. He can feel it coming in the air. A sort of quiet buzzing, a sort of hum. He says it feels like the air is charging.

Won’t be long now.

He watches the Professor with Lilandra’s hologram. He says _it’s sad don’t you think? That they can watch it coming but can’t be together for it, can’t hold each other, can’t tou..._

The word dies on his lips and he shakes his head. He lights another cigarette.

And she looks at him.

She looks at his hair falling into his eyes, the smoke from his lips curling over his shoulder and dissipating in the desert breeze, the moonlight highlighting the slopes and planes of his face, his brow, his nose, his lips…

He’s so beautiful it makes her catch her breath sometimes.

He stares out into the distance, tense. He says her name.

I know, she thinks. Yes, she thinks.

_Remy toss that cigarette away._

She stands, she curls her hands in the lapels of his trench and he wraps her in it, he holds her to him.

She says, _are you ready?_

_To die?_

She bites her lip, she nods and he brushes a lock of hair from her eyes, smoothes it behind her ear.

_Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but… what can you do?_

He quirks a smile at her and then he swallows, he pulls her in with a frown. He takes a deep breath, cradling her face in the palm of his hand, _Rogue, I…_

Someone cries out behind them and she looks over his shoulder, she sees it coming, a tidal wave of crystal crawling up the air in dips and crashes, glistening and shimmering, beautiful and deadly and she tears her eyes away from it, she tightens her grip on him and his hands grasp her shoulder blades, pulling her closer. She whispers his name for the last time and she doesn’t know who moves first, but their lips meet, they kiss and she has a few seconds of feeling him, feeling him kiss her, feeling his mouth move under hers, his hand snaking up into her hair and clasping her to him harder, harder, and then it happens like a flower blooming in the darkness, Remy pouring into her head and it doesn’t hurt, he’s not fighting it and neither is she, it doesn’t hurt… And she sees herself... The way he sees her… the way he’s always seen her… She sees herself flickering like a silent film in her mind, in his mind, and she feels him… she feels all of him… and she tells him she loves him too she loves hi- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference: X-Men #41 (1995)_


	11. Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [11: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking - Snow Patrol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjiZ29uPVHU)

He wakes up slow, comes back to himself like crawling through a dream, a nightmare.

He can still taste her, can still feel her… the softest skin he’s ever touched, the sweetest mouth he’s ever kissed…

His head pounds, his heart twists.

They tell him she’s been gone for weeks. They tell him she left the second she was able. Drake went with her.

He catches her on the phone when she checks in. He can hear it in her voice. There’s a tremor to it that’s never been there before.

He doesn’t know if she knows… he doesn’t think she does… if she did… well, he wouldn’t be here. He most likely wouldn’t have woken up at all.

He tells her to wait for him as she says goodbye, as she hangs up.

He knows where she’s going. Where he went. He can find her.

He’s not going after her to save his own hide as much as he’s going to save _her_.

He can save her.

He can save her from his ugliness, he can save her from the shame of having loved someone who could do the things he did…

He can make it okay he can talk anyone into anything he can make her forget it all.

And she’ll do that for him.

Because she loves him.

And he’ll do that for her. He’ll shield her because he loves her.

He loves her too much to let this happen.

\---

He watches from the shadows with Bobby.

He watches her pace the empty stage and she looks beautiful and wild, just like she did the first time he ever saw her - in the heat of a battle he leapt into feet first, surrounded by the enemy and people who weren’t his people yet. He saw her in the midst of laser fire and fists and was struck to the core.

Every time he sees her it’s like that first time.

She always takes his breath away.

He glances over his shoulder at the kid.

_Did she say anything to you…_

He says _no_ , he says, _what’s happening to her…?_

And he thinks, _guilt_.

_My guilt._

When he shows himself he half expects everything to click into place. The combination of his broken self and this abandoned building where he signed over his soul like two puzzle pieces coming together... He half expects her to know, just by looking at him here on this stage, this shattered arena of falsehoods and truths that someone made up just so they could have a good story, a happy ending.

He’s a player who doesn’t believe in happy endings but he keeps trying. Always trying to come as close as he can.

He tells himself he has to step carefully here, he can’t give anything away while he tries to figure out how much she’s figured out, and it’s cruel, this dance, this manipulation, but it’s necessary, this is necessary…

And it’s torture.

He was unprepared for this… for the look on her face… for her voice, her eyes…

He didn’t know it would be like this…

 _You’re doing this to me… it’s you,_ she says, _Whatever it is I took from you…please…_

_Help me… release me… Remy…_

They go round and round, a carousel of agony, he evades, she advances, he sidesteps and she wraps her arms around herself, she wraps curtains…

She pulls it all down.

Everything crashing and burning and he rises from the dust just like he always does and she falls to her knees and she says, _please I can’t take it anymore… please_

He can’t take this anymore…

_It’s only a matter a’ time before you’re gonna have ta stop dancin’ and face the music, pup._

He can’t talk his way out of this.

He can’t convince her that all this is is just one more thing they have to get through.

Because he knows what it is she’s feeling. It’s something he’s kept locked up tight deep inside himself for years, and the fact that she doesn’t understand where it's coming from, what’s causing it is making it even worse. The pain, the confusion, the guilt, the _horror_ … it’s enough to drive anyone mad and as strong as Rogue is… her mind has always been a fragile thing.

And she doesn’t have the tools he does, she hasn’t the gift of being able to rationalize every single dirty thing he’s ever done by saying _it’s over_ , and _never again_ , _I’m **this** now, **that** doesn’t count…_

But it does. That’s what she’s trying to tell him. That’s what _Creed_ was trying to tell him but he didn’t want to hear it.

Everything counts.

He always thought his penance was that he had to live with what he did, but now he’s beginning to realize it’s this.

It’s right now.

He closes his eyes, feels the rain beat down through the cracked ceiling, the sky falling all around him as he stands inside the belly of this beast.

_The rain will wash away all your sins..._

Nothing will ever be clean again after tonight.

He crawls through the wreckage. He pulls her down to his level.

He tells himself it was only a matter of time before it happened. Before his past caught up with him and soiled everything.

It was only a matter of time.

She looks up at him, she whispers that all she wanted that night, that night at the edge of the world was to kiss him just once… she whispers that she couldn’t die without kissing him just once and he tells her he felt the same way…

And he doesn’t regret it.

That one moment was the closest to happiness he has ever felt, the closest to contentment, peace. It was the purest kiss he has ever shared and the irony does not escape him that that one moment of perfection has caused all this destruction, all this pain…

_End it... Remy, please... make it stop..._

He can’t tell her. He can’t say the words out loud, he’d say them wrong, he’d try to justify…

He doesn’t deserve that.

He deserves her knowing the truth once and for all. Unadulterated. She needs to see through his eyes for this to truly be over. He needs to burn it all down and if she’s still standing with him when the smoke clears… either he’ll be forgiven or he’ll be damned in her eyes and then nothing else will matter anymore anyway.

He peels off his glove

It’s the only way to get past this

He faces his greatest fear 

Her looking at him and not recognizing him at all

He reaches out

He says _I’m giving myself to you. Everything I was, everything I am… everything I want to be… I’m giving it to you, Rogue_

_These are my cards. Everything on the table._

_I’m risking the whole pot._

He loves her more than he ever thought he would, than he ever thought he could, and this is him saying it, this outstretched hand…

And she doesn’t take it.

He’s not relieved. He’s at a standstill. He can’t go back and he can’t go forward, not with the way things are, not with the way he’s made them. He waited too long. He hedged his bets until the last second and now it’s too late.

This is a final punishment.

This is a prison of his own making.

He watches her go.

He stands there in the rain, gasping, he watches her go.

He can’t speak and he can’t move, he watches her go.

It’s like being stuck in a dream, a nightmare.

And when he comes back to himself he’s alone and the rain is still falling.

She’s gone and he’s lost her. He’s lost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference: X-Men #45 (1995)_


	12. All of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [12: All of Me - Angus and Julia Stone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvfRDHVS3Ek)

She didn’t think it would be like this. She didn’t think this would ever happen ever except in her head, in fantasies that she would play out alone in her room or sometimes when he was right there fighting beside her, or cooking, or playing basketball, or running through a training session… A million scenarios where her powers are just suddenly mysteriously negated and a touch would happen. Maybe accidentally. Maybe with intent. And they’d both be surprised. And then they’d both be silent because the time for words was through, no more substitutions needed.

Funny how once her powers _were_ negated it didn’t occur to her that something _could_ happen. That something could _finally_ happen...

It’s Remy who reminds her, who tells her that this may be their only night. And he doesn’t say it gently, softly. He says it directly. Point blank. This is it. The only chance we have.

I want you.

You want me.

It’s now or never and it never occurs to either of them that once he’s said this, once it’s been voiced out loud that it’s _not_ going to happen. Everything has been building up to this for years.

He reaches out to her first, stunned as she still is by the revelation that he can.

His hand slides into her hair, cupping the back of her head and he pulls her into a kiss. Again, not gentle, but hard and greedy, years of pent up desire and frustration boiling over and she is matching him, she is clutching him to her just as hard and her heart is racing, she can barely breathe and it is better than anything she has ever imagined because it is real and right now and she knows there is something else going on, something is wrong but his mouth and his hands are begging her to let it go for now, let it rest, _let us have this_.

They undress each other quickly and it’s only when he’s right _there_ and her legs are folded around his waist and they are both breathing hard, practically sobbing with want, that they meet each other's eyes and everything suddenly slows down, the whole world slows down.

He looks stunned, like he’s just realizing right now that this is real, that she’s really here, really with him, that he’s not dreaming. She touches his face to prove it to him, she touches his lips with the tips of her fingers and he kisses them and it happens it happens it happens.

It’s later when they explore each other. Covered in dirt, lying on the hard cold ground she runs her hands over his body and he smiles and sighs and she has never had him at her mercy before, not like this, and she likes it. He lets her play until he can’t take it anymore and she tells him she loves him and he still can’t say it but the way he looks at her she knows, she knows.

There’s a sadness in his eyes that has been there for days and he won’t tell her and she can’t make him, but she kisses him and tries to make it better the only way she can.

He kisses her back long and deep in answer and she thinks _nothing, nothing that can happen matters any more._

He is hers and she is his and nothing can take that away from them now.

\---

He watches her sleep. Her body warm against his, nothing but skin between them.

And his past... always his past…

He was beginning to think it was over. Finally over. That he’d…gotten away with it. That he would never have to tell her.

She hasn’t asked him about the things she absorbed from him until tonight when it all came bubbling to the surface again and she could _see_ it in him, could see it the way he saw it in her in Seattle, eating him alive.

He traces her shoulder blade with the tips of his fingers.

This is where it’s going to happen.

He doesn’t regret this, having this with her…

This is where it’s going to end.

But they shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have done it.

He didn’t deserve these few precious hours, and he’s never deserved her.

He leans over, kisses her shoulder, her neck, and she sighs in her sleep as he eases himself on top of her, careful to keep his weight from her.

He looks down at her and he thinks, _I can do it. I can tell her right now… I can tell her everything…_

She opens her eyes and she gives him the sweetest smile…

And he realizes he can’t. She’ll never look at him like this again.

“Remy…” she whispers and she bites her lip shyly, her long legs wrapping around him, the arch of one foot on his calf, the heel of the other at the small of his back…

And he doesn’t say a word. He closes his eyes and loses himself in her touch, her mouth, her body, her voice gasping his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference: Uncanny X-Men #348, #350 (1997)_


	13. Come to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [13: Come to Me - Mark Lanegan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGvF-dL2scQ)

It’s three am when he sneaks into the mansion. He hasn’t exactly been banished, but it’s understood; the mansion is hers, the pool house, his. He doesn’t come here unless there’s a meeting or a training session.

They’ve forgiven each other as much as they can since Antarctica, but he’s been keeping his distance because he thinks it’s what she wants and she’s been doing the same.

But it’s not what he wants. Not even close.

He slips into the living room, the only light coming from the tree standing tall before the bay windows, the twinkle-lights glinting off the glass, and he breathes in the scent of pine needles, that deep green smell of earth and wood and he remembers that she gave him gloves that first Christmas. Leather ones that she cut the index, middle and pinky fingers off of. He had smiled because she’d noticed and she rolled her eyes. _“Don’t make too much of it, Cajun. Every one getsa present at Xavier’s.”_  

He fingers a crystal star, remembers her placing it on the tree then. He remembers how it caught the light, how it looked like that was what she was holding in her hands. Light. It was the first time he saw her hands ungloved. He imagined it was like what seeing a flash of ankle a hundred years ago might have been like. A sudden skip to the heart, a jolt of lust. The sight of those bare hands did things to him, filled his nights with imagining what he could do with those hands, what he could teach her…

There’s someone in the room with him.

The someone doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t so much as breathe but he knows who it is. Something happens to him whenever she’s near. He becomes hyperaware of his body, of the space between it and her.

“Little late to be up, _non_?”

She doesn’t move from the doorway.

“Ah could say the same ta you…”

He lets go of the ornament, watches it swing just a little before it stills, nestled in the branches. He turns to her and he can see her there in the dark, the reddish light from the tree bathing her just so… She’s wearing a slip and a short robe loosely tied with a thin sash, barefoot.

“Hi,” he whispers.

Her lips part, then close. She swallows.

“What… what are ya doin’ here, Gambit?”

“Heat shut down in de pool house. Thought I’d crash on de couch til de mornin’. I fix it in de mornin’.”

“Oh,” she says and he can’t stop himself, he comes to her and he feels almost predatory like he’s waiting for her to flee just so he can catch her. But she doesn’t move and he doesn’t really like the surge of hope he feels because he’s pretty certain whatever is going to happen here is not going to end well because it never does lately.

They look at each other in the dark and he doesn’t want to be the one to speak first but he always is. She’s stubborn as hell when she wants to be. Especially when it comes to him.

He remembers her, that first Christmas, that night at the party. He was intrigued by her, he was drawn to the push-pull, the _come here_ , the _go away_ , the _touch me_ , the _don’t_. Women play games like this. The glances from underneath eyelashes, the faux-disdainful turn of the head. But it wasn’t a game when she did these things. It wasn’t a game, it was something else. It was something pure and genuine and honest. Things he’s never had much experience with.

He thinks that’s why he always loses when it comes to her.

She’s not his anymore. And he’s not hers. But it doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t feel _better_. Not when the agony of being apart surpasses the agony of being together, not when he knows, he _knows_ she’s still here with him, that she felt him here downstairs and that’s why she came.

She felt him calling to her and she answered because she can’t _not_ , just like _he_ can’t not and he whispers, he shakes the air between them, “I ain’ crazy, am I? It still dere, innit, _chere_? You feel it too…”

He takes a chance, he takes a hold of the sash at her waist and pulls gently, pulls closer and her chest rises and falls in a quick intake of breath and her robe slips off her shoulder, her red-hued shoulder, but she doesn’t stop him, she doesn’t pull away.

She whispers, “No…”

And he pulls closer, closer, his hand fisting the sash until he abandons it for the curve of her waist and she still hasn’t turned away, but she hasn’t given in completely either. Her eyes are still watchful, her body still tense and he says, “No?”, he presses his lips against the silk over her other shoulder, he kisses like he can’t help it, he breathes deep, “No?”

His arms enfold her, he rocks her in the light of the Christmas tree like he did once before when it was all new and neither of them knew what would happen, how far this would go and she lets him and he whispers his confession against her hair, “I’m so tired… I’m so tired, _chere_ … I’m so tired of missin’ you and pretendin’ I don’… I’m so tired o’ pretendin’ I don’ see you… that I don’ still wan’ you… I’m tired of tellin’ m’self you don’ wan’ me no more…” He lifts his head, he looks deep into her eyes and their noses are almost touching, but she still doesn’t move away and he’s not afraid because he has no more secrets, she knows them all now, every bad, hurtful, dirty thing, and he can feel her breath on his lips, the catch, when he says “Cuz you do, _chere_. You do.”

And something finally breaks in her eyes, something shatters as she gives in, her body melting against his, fitting herself to him, and he grasps her harder, tighter, his hands pushing through silk to feel her.

He sinks to his knees because he can’t stand anymore, he presses his face to her belly, his hands grasping her hips and her hands, her ungloved hands clasp his shoulders, stroke his hair, as he murmurs against silk, “Can we rest, _chere_? Can we rest…”


End file.
